Adrian could now recognize her feeble attempt at baiting him into saying thatRigolettowas in Italian, so he only pretended to despair.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked in a softer tone when her expression returned to its pensive baseline for the evening.
“Yes. No. No, I’m fine,” Caroline said, stretching out her long legs in front of her in a carelessly graceful sprawl.
“We can do something else,” he offered.
“Like what?”
“Whatever you want. Anything.”
That brought a hint of a smile to her face. “Your profile didn’t say you’d doanything,” she said, trying hard to leer but not quite managing the expression.
Adrian’s boundaries were well within art-person norms, but he doubted an innocent like Caroline could find his hard limits with a map and a compass. Though now he imagined her trying.
She does not want to sleep with you. She was very clear about that. Do not think about the anythings you could do with her.
“What would you rather be doing?” he rephrased, realizing too late that this question offered the same answer as before. She knew it too and gave him a knowing smile as the heat rose in his cheeks. But her smile faded as she considered his question.
“I don’t know,” she finally said.
“What would you normally do on a Friday night?” he prompted her when she didn’t offer a single suggestion.
She screwed up her face, then took a deep breath. “Tennis,” she said.
“Do you want me to find someone to play tennis with you?” he asked.
She gave him a considering look, then inclined her head to indicate that he’d do. Adrian instinctively leaned backward.
“Not me,” he said. “I haven’t played since high school.” He hadn’t been particularly good at tennis in high school, even, but she didn’t look put off by his disclosure. “I don’t have a racket.”
“You can use my spare,” she said, apparently warming to the idea. When he didn’t bite, she sweetened the offer. “You can use mynewone.”
“Caroline. I barely remember the rules,” he warned her. Any random yuppie off the streets was likely to be better at tennis than he was.
Her smile broadened. “Well, when I play tennis, I dolike to win,” she said, her tone growing much more cheerful. “But I haven’t played in six months. You’ll probably do just fine.”
Adrian rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess we can go tomorrow morning.” He’d watch some videos tonight.
“I thought you meant right now?”
“It’s eight at night. I’m in a suit,” he pointed out.
She gave him pleading eyes. “You can get changed first.”
It struck him that playing tennis with her was one of the easier things she might ask of him. Much less likely to send him to hell thanTake me to Europe, Adrian;paint me like one of your French girls, Adrian;kiss me, Adrian—
He never used to want things he shouldn’t have. He didn’t know what was happening to him.
Caroline peered up at him expectantly, arms wrapped around her enormous yellow purse. The conductor began walking back toward the orchestra pit.
“All right,” he acquiesced. “I can do a little night tennis.”
Two hours later, Adrian walked out of his gym, scanning the street for Caroline. His gym did not have tennis courts. It was locatednextto a park with public courts. Unsurprisingly, nobody else was on the courts at 10:00 p.m. in the last week of October, though floodlights still illuminated the area. Adrian, in sweatpants, did not look like he had anything worth being mugged over, but he worried about Caroline.
She had suggested they use Boston College’s courts. Adrian had in return suggested that he would sooner strip naked and streak through the quad than sign in as her guest at the student gym. Caroline had promptly replied that they could do that instead if he preferred, shewould enjoy that just as much as tennis, thank you. Her eventual agreement to change separately and meet at the park seemed likely to be his last win that evening.
She was already there, batting a ball against the backboard. He needed a moment to take in Caroline dressed for tennis: an infinitesimal skirt, white ankle socks, and a ponytail, looking like she’d just stepped out of a college athletics brochure or a daydream whose wholesomeness was subject to immediate change. Her only concession to the temperature was a long-sleeved half-zip shirt. Adrian was wearing a T-shirt under his sweatshirt, and the night air was already sinking in. He wondered whether he ought to offer it to her.
